Page 31 of Whiskey Chase
“She cheated on Gibson when Mom died,” Bowie said shortly. “And apparently Mr. Zirkel had no problem mixin’ it up with her and Scarlett.”
There was a tic beneath Bowie’s eye. “Take the shower curtain,” he growled at us before marching downstairs.
Jonah and I looked at each other and shrugged. I headed into the shoebox of a bathroom and yanked the shower curtain off its hooks.
“Why do y’all have Misty Lynn Prosser’s shirt on your bedroom floor on top of Scarlett’s stuff?” Bowie’s raised voice carried up the stairs.
“We should probably get down there,” Jonah suggested.
I wasn’t sure if he was worried about missing out on the action or being there to prevent any murders.
Wade was sputtering his excuses in the kitchen. And Gibson was glaring at the man like he’d like to beat him to death with his own arms.
“Did you cheat on our sister with Misty Lynn?” Bowie demanded.
“N-n-no. I swear! We were already broken up when—”
Gibson grabbed Wade by his shirtfront. “Just what kind of a dumbass are you? You trade in my sister on that Venus fly trap?”
The sandwich knife Wade had used to build Gibson a roast beef club with what looked like the last of his bread was safely lost in the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. I decided I didn’t want to be a witness to whatever happened next, so I headed into the living room, the shower curtain rustling in the bag against my leg.
I watched Jameson pop the batteries out of the TV remote and drop them into his bag. The remote, he tossed over his shoulder behind the couch. He took all of the throw pillows on the couch and stuffed them in the trash bag.
I looked around at the shabby room. More shag carpeting. Some framed movie posters hung in cheap plastic frames. A collection of expensive sneakers had a home on a shoe rack just inside the door. There was a single couch and a seventy-five-inch big screen TV mounted to the wall.
The whole place felt sad.
I tried to imagine Scarlett here curled up to watch one of the movies in the collection that Jameson was going through. Every third Blu-ray he’d open and dump the disc into his bag. He picked up another one and grunted.
He held upThe Godfatherin my direction.
“Keeper,” I agreed.
Jameson tucked it, case and all, into his bag.
I opened the coat closet and found a Bodine Home Services fleece and a purple parka. I stuffed them both into my bag.
“I swear that toaster oven ain’t Scarlett’s,” Wade said, trailing in on Gibson’s heels. Jonah and Bowie followed him.
Gibson spun on his heel, and Wade stopped in his tracks and Bowie and Jonah stepped in behind him. “But she’s welcome to it,” he gulped.
“You’re damn right she’s welcome to it,” Gibson snarled. “And anything else she wants because you’re a douchebag who never grew up. And if you ever go near Scarlett again, you’ll be missing more than some appliances. You get me?”
Wade, eyes wide enough to pop out of his sockets, nodded frantically. “I get you. I sure do. And I’m right sorry. I’ll tell her that if y’all—”
“I think it’s best if you never speak to her again,” Bowie said amicably. “Also, stay away from Misty Lynn for fuck’s sake. She’s bad news. And your dick’ll fall off.”
“I will,” he said, Adam’s apple bobbing.
We filed out, one by one. Jonah paused in Wade’s face in front of me. “Don’t fuck with Scarlett again,” he said, his voice low.
“She’s too good for you,” I said, piling on. “Don’t you forget that.”
We convened around Gibson’s Charger with our trash bags.
“Scarlett’s gonna be pissed,” Jameson said with a ghost of a smile.
Gibson looked at the leather-wrapped watch on his wrist. “I don’t know about you boys, but I sure could go for a nice, cold drink.”
